Editing Volume 3/Book 8/Chapter 17

Les Mis&eacute;rables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 17: The Use made of Marius' Five-Franc Piece<br />
(Tome 3: Marius, Livre huiti&egrave;me: Le mauvais pauvre, Chapitre 17: Emploi de la pi&egrave;ce de cinq francs de Marius)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

 
Marius jugea que le moment &eacute;tait venu de reprendre sa place &agrave; son
observatoire. En un clin d'&oelig;il, et avec la souplesse de son &acirc;ge, il fut
pr&egrave;s du trou de la cloison.

 
Il regarda.

 
L'int&eacute;rieur du logis Jondrette offrait un aspect singulier, et Marius
s'expliqua la clart&eacute; &eacute;trange qu'il y avait remarqu&eacute;e. Une chandelle y
br&ucirc;lait dans un chandelier vert-de-gris&eacute;, mais ce n'&eacute;tait pas elle qui
&eacute;clairait r&eacute;ellement la chambre. Le taudis tout entier &eacute;tait comme
illumin&eacute; par la r&eacute;verb&eacute;ration d'un assez grand r&eacute;chaud de t&ocirc;le plac&eacute;
dans la chemin&eacute;e et rempli de charbon allum&eacute;; le r&eacute;chaud que la
Jondrette avait pr&eacute;par&eacute; le matin. Le charbon &eacute;tait ardent et le r&eacute;chaud
&eacute;tait rouge, une flamme bleue y dansait et aidait &agrave; distinguer la forme
du ciseau achet&eacute; par Jondrette rue Pierre-Lombard, qui rougissait
enfonc&eacute; dans la braise. On voyait dans un coin pr&egrave;s de la porte, et
comme dispos&eacute;s pour un usage pr&eacute;vu, deux tas qui paraissaient &ecirc;tre l'un
un tas de ferrailles, l'autre un tas de cordes. Tout cela, pour
quelqu'un qui n'e&ucirc;t rien su de ce qui s'appr&ecirc;tait, e&ucirc;t fait flotter
l'esprit entre une id&eacute;e tr&egrave;s sinistre et une id&eacute;e tr&egrave;s simple. Le bouge
ainsi &eacute;clair&eacute; ressemblait plut&ocirc;t &agrave; une forge qu'&agrave; une bouche de l'enfer,
mais Jondrette, &agrave; cette lueur, avait plut&ocirc;t l'air d'un d&eacute;mon que d'un
forgeron.

 
La chaleur du brasier &eacute;tait telle que la chandelle sur la table fondait
du c&ocirc;t&eacute; du r&eacute;chaud et se consumait en biseau. Une vieille lanterne
sourde en cuivre, digne de Diog&egrave;ne devenu Cartouche, &eacute;tait pos&eacute;e sur la
chemin&eacute;e.

 
Le r&eacute;chaud, plac&eacute; dans le foyer m&ecirc;me, &agrave; c&ocirc;t&eacute; des tisons &agrave; peu pr&egrave;s
&eacute;teints, envoyait sa vapeur dans le tuyau de la chemin&eacute;e et ne r&eacute;pandait
pas d'odeur.

 
La lune, entrant par les quatre carreaux de la fen&ecirc;tre, jetait sa
blancheur dans le galetas pourpre et flamboyant, et pour le po&eacute;tique
esprit de Marius, songeur m&ecirc;me au moment de l'action, c'&eacute;tait comme une
pens&eacute;e du ciel m&ecirc;l&eacute;e aux r&ecirc;ves difformes de la terre.

 
Un souffle d'air, p&eacute;n&eacute;trant par le carreau cass&eacute;, contribuait &agrave; dissiper
l'odeur du charbon et &agrave; dissimuler le r&eacute;chaud.

 
Le repaire Jondrette &eacute;tait, si l'on se rappelle ce que nous avons dit de
la masure Gorbeau, admirablement choisi pour servir de th&eacute;&acirc;tre &agrave; un fait
violent et sombre et d'enveloppe &agrave; un crime. C'&eacute;tait la chambre la plus
recul&eacute;e de la maison la plus isol&eacute;e du boulevard le plus d&eacute;sert de
Paris. Si le guet-apens n'existait pas, on l'y e&ucirc;t invent&eacute;.

 
Toute l'&eacute;paisseur d'une maison et une foule de chambres inhabit&eacute;es
s&eacute;paraient ce bouge du boulevard, et la seule fen&ecirc;tre qu'il e&ucirc;t donnait
sur de vastes terrains vagues enclos de murailles et de palissades.

 
Jondrette avait allum&eacute; sa pipe, s'&eacute;tait assis sur la chaise d&eacute;paill&eacute;e,
et fumait. Sa femme lui parlait bas.

 
Si Marius e&ucirc;t &eacute;t&eacute; Courfeyrac, c'est-&agrave;-dire un de ces hommes qui rient
dans toutes les occasions de la vie, il e&ucirc;t &eacute;clat&eacute; de rire quand son
regard tomba sur la Jondrette. Elle avait un chapeau noir avec des
plumes assez semblable aux chapeaux des h&eacute;rauts d'armes du sacre de
Charles X, un immense ch&acirc;le tartan sur son jupon de tricot, et les
souliers d'homme que sa fille avait d&eacute;daign&eacute;s le matin. C'&eacute;tait cette
toilette qui avait arrach&eacute; &agrave; Jondrette l'exclamation: ''Bon! tu t'es
habill&eacute;e! tu as bien fait. Il faut que tu puisses inspirer la
confiance''!

 
Quant &agrave; Jondrette, il n'avait pas quitt&eacute; le surtout neuf et trop large
pour lui que M. Leblanc lui avait donn&eacute;, et son costume continuait
d'offrir ce contraste de la redingote et du pantalon qui constituait aux
yeux de Courfeyrac l'id&eacute;al du po&egrave;te.

 
Tout &agrave; coup Jondrette haussa la voix:

 
&mdash;&Agrave; propos! j'y songe. Par le temps qu'il fait, il va venir en fiacre.
Allume la lanterne, prend-l&agrave;, et descends. Tu te tiendras derri&egrave;re la
porte en bas. Au moment o&ugrave; tu entendras la voiture s'arr&ecirc;ter, tu
ouvriras tout de suite, il montera, tu l'&eacute;claireras dans l'escalier et
dans le corridor, et pendant qu'il entrera ici, tu redescendras bien
vite, tu payeras le cocher, et tu renverras le fiacre.

 
&mdash;Et de l'argent? demanda la femme.

 
Jondrette fouilla dans son pantalon, et lui remit cinq francs.

 
&mdash;Qu'est-ce que c'est que &ccedil;a? s'&eacute;cria-t-elle.

 
Jondrette r&eacute;pondit avec dignit&eacute;:

 
&mdash;C'est le monarque que le voisin a donn&eacute; ce matin.

 
Et il ajouta:

 
&mdash;Sais-tu? il faudrait ici deux chaises.

 
&mdash;Pourquoi?

 
&mdash;Pour s'asseoir.

 
Marius sentit un frisson lui courir dans les reins en entendant la
Jondrette faire cette r&eacute;ponse paisible:

 
&mdash;Pardieu! je vais t'aller chercher celles du voisin.

 
Et d'un mouvement rapide elle ouvrit la porte du bouge et sortit dans le
corridor.

 
Marius n'avait pas mat&eacute;riellement le temps de descendre de la commode,
d'aller jusqu'&agrave; son lit et de s'y cacher.

 
&mdash;Prends la chandelle, cria Jondrette.

 
&mdash;Non, dit-elle, cela m'embarrasserait, j'ai les deux chaises &agrave; porter.
Il fait clair de lune.

 
Marius entendit la lourde main de la m&egrave;re Jondrette chercher en
t&acirc;tonnant sa clef dans l'obscurit&eacute;. La porte s'ouvrit. Il resta clou&eacute; &agrave;
sa place par le saisissement et la stupeur.

 
La Jondrette entra.

 
La lucarne mansard&eacute;e laissait passer un rayon de lune entre deux grands
pans d'ombre. Un de ces pans d'ombre couvrait enti&egrave;rement le mur auquel
&eacute;tait adoss&eacute; Marius, de sorte qu'il y disparaissait.

 
La m&egrave;re Jondrette leva les yeux, ne vit pas Marius, prit les deux
chaises, les seules que Marius poss&eacute;d&acirc;t, et s'en alla, en laissant la
porte retomber bruyamment derri&egrave;re elle.

 
Elle rentra dans le bouge:

 
&mdash;Voici les deux chaises.

 
&mdash;Et voil&agrave; la lanterne, dit le mari. Descends bien vite.

 
Elle ob&eacute;it en h&acirc;te, et Jondrette resta seul.

 
Il disposa les deux chaises des deux c&ocirc;t&eacute;s de la table, retourna le
ciseau dans le brasier, mit devant la chemin&eacute;e un vieux paravent, qui
masquait le r&eacute;chaud, puis alla au coin o&ugrave; &eacute;tait le tas de cordes et se
baissa comme pour y examiner quelque chose. Marius reconnut alors que ce
qu'il avait pris pour un tas informe &eacute;tait une &eacute;chelle de corde tr&egrave;s
bien faite avec des &eacute;chelons de bois et deux crampons pour l'accrocher.

 
Cette &eacute;chelle et quelques gros outils, v&eacute;ritables masses de fer, qui
&eacute;taient m&ecirc;l&eacute;s au monceau de ferrailles entass&eacute; derri&egrave;re la porte,
n'&eacute;taient point le matin dans le bouge Jondrette et y avaient &eacute;t&eacute;
&eacute;videmment apport&eacute;s dans l'apr&egrave;s-midi, pendant l'absence de Marius.

 
&mdash;Ce sont des outils de taillandier, pensa Marius.

 
Si Marius e&ucirc;t &eacute;t&eacute; un peu plus lettr&eacute; en ce genre, il e&ucirc;t reconnu, dans
ce qu'il prenait pour des engins de taillandier, de certains instruments
pouvant forcer une serrure ou crocheter une porte, et d'autres pouvant
couper ou trancher, les deux familles d'outils sinistres que les voleurs
appellent ''les cadets'' et ''les fauchants''.

 
La chemin&eacute;e et la table avec les deux chaises &eacute;taient pr&eacute;cis&eacute;ment en
face de Marius. Le r&eacute;chaud &eacute;tant cach&eacute;, la chambre n'&eacute;tait plus &eacute;clair&eacute;e
que par la chandelle; le moindre tesson sur la table ou sur la chemin&eacute;e
faisait une grande ombre. Un pot &agrave; l'eau &eacute;gueul&eacute; masquait la moiti&eacute; d'un
mur. Il y avait dans cette chambre je ne sais quel calme hideux et
mena&ccedil;ant. On y sentait l'attente de quelque chose d'&eacute;pouvantable.

 
Jondrette avait laiss&eacute; sa pipe s'&eacute;teindre, grave signe de pr&eacute;occupation,
et &eacute;tait venu se rasseoir. La chandelle faisait saillir les angles
farouches et fins de son visage. Il avait des froncements de sourcils et
de brusques &eacute;panouissements de la main droite comme s'il r&eacute;pondait aux
derniers conseils d'un sombre monologue int&eacute;rieur. Dans une de ces
obscures r&eacute;pliques qu'il se faisait &agrave; lui-m&ecirc;me, il amena vivement &agrave; lui
le tiroir de la table, y prit un long couteau de cuisine qui y &eacute;tait
cach&eacute; et en essaya le tranchant sur son ongle. Cela fait, il remit le
couteau dans le tiroir, qu'il repoussa.

 
Marius de son c&ocirc;t&eacute; saisit le pistolet qui &eacute;tait dans son gousset droit,
l'en retira et l'arma.

 
Le pistolet en s'armant fit un petit bruit clair et sec.

 
Jondrette tressaillit et se souleva &agrave; demi sur sa chaise:

 
&mdash;Qui est l&agrave;? cria-t-il.

 
Marius suspendit son haleine, Jondrette &eacute;couta un instant, puis se mit &agrave;
rire en disant:

 
&mdash;Suis-je b&ecirc;te! C'est la cloison qui craque.

 
Marius garda le pistolet &agrave; sa main.

 
==English text==

 
Marius decided that the moment had now arrived when he must resume his
post at his observatory. In a twinkling, and with the agility of his age,
he had reached the hole in the partition.

 
He looked.

 
The interior of the Jondrette apartment presented a curious aspect, and
Marius found an explanation of the singular light which he had noticed. A
candle was burning in a candlestick covered with verdigris, but that was
not what really lighted the chamber. The hovel was completely illuminated,
as it were, by the reflection from a rather large sheet-iron brazier
standing in the fireplace, and filled with burning charcoal, the brazier
prepared by the Jondrette woman that morning. The charcoal was glowing hot
and the brazier was red; a blue flame flickered over it, and helped him to
make out the form of the chisel purchased by Jondrette in the Rue
Pierre-Lombard, where it had been thrust into the brazier to heat. In one
corner, near the door, and as though prepared for some definite use, two
heaps were visible, which appeared to be, the one a heap of old iron, the
other a heap of ropes. All this would have caused the mind of a person who
knew nothing of what was in preparation, to waver between a very sinister
and a very simple idea. The lair thus lighted up more resembled a forge
than a mouth of hell, but Jondrette, in this light, had rather the air of
a demon than of a smith.

 
The heat of the brazier was so great, that the candle on the table was
melting on the side next the chafing-dish, and was drooping over. An old
dark-lantern of copper, worthy of Diogenes turned Cartouche, stood on the
chimney-piece.

 
The brazier, placed in the fireplace itself, beside the nearly extinct
brands, sent its vapors up the chimney, and gave out no odor.

 
The moon, entering through the four panes of the window, cast its
whiteness into the crimson and flaming garret; and to the poetic spirit of
Marius, who was dreamy even in the moment of action, it was like a thought
of heaven mingled with the misshapen reveries of earth.

 
A breath of air which made its way in through the open pane, helped to
dissipate the smell of the charcoal and to conceal the presence of the
brazier.

 
The Jondrette lair was, if the reader recalls what we have said of the
Gorbeau building, admirably chosen to serve as the theatre of a violent
and sombre deed, and as the envelope for a crime. It was the most retired
chamber in the most isolated house on the most deserted boulevard in
Paris. If the system of ambush and traps had not already existed, they
would have been invented there.

 
The whole thickness of a house and a multitude of uninhabited rooms
separated this den from the boulevard, and the only window that existed
opened on waste lands enclosed with walls and palisades.

 
Jondrette had lighted his pipe, seated himself on the seatless chair, and
was engaged in smoking. His wife was talking to him in a low tone.

 
If Marius had been Courfeyrac, that is to say, one of those men who laugh
on every occasion in life, he would have burst with laughter when his gaze
fell on the Jondrette woman. She had on a black bonnet with plumes not
unlike the hats of the heralds-at-arms at the coronation of Charles X., an
immense tartan shawl over her knitted petticoat, and the man's shoes which
her daughter had scorned in the morning. It was this toilette which had
extracted from Jondrette the exclamation: "Good! You have dressed up. You
have done well. You must inspire confidence!"

 
As for Jondrette, he had not taken off the new surtout, which was too
large for him, and which M. Leblanc had given him, and his costume
continued to present that contrast of coat and trousers which constituted
the ideal of a poet in Courfeyrac's eyes.

 
All at once, Jondrette lifted up his voice:&mdash;

 
"By the way! Now that I think of it. In this weather, he will come in a
carriage. Light the lantern, take it and go down stairs. You will stand
behind the lower door. The very moment that you hear the carriage stop,
you will open the door, instantly, he will come up, you will light the
staircase and the corridor, and when he enters here, you will go down
stairs again as speedily as possible, you will pay the coachman, and
dismiss the fiacre."

 
"And the money?" inquired the woman.

 
Jondrette fumbled in his trousers pocket and handed her five francs.

 
"What's this?" she exclaimed.

 
Jondrette replied with dignity:&mdash;

 
"That is the monarch which our neighbor gave us this morning."

 
And he added:&mdash;

 
"Do you know what? Two chairs will be needed here."

 
"What for?"

 
"To sit on."

 
Marius felt a cold chill pass through his limbs at hearing this mild
answer from Jondrette.

 
"Pardieu! I'll go and get one of our neighbor's."

 
And with a rapid movement, she opened the door of the den, and went out
into the corridor.

 
Marius absolutely had not the time to descend from the commode, reach his
bed, and conceal himself beneath it.

 
"Take the candle," cried Jondrette.

 
"No," said she, "it would embarrass me, I have the two chairs to carry.
There is moonlight."

 
Marius heard Mother Jondrette's heavy hand fumbling at his lock in the
dark. The door opened. He remained nailed to the spot with the shock and
with horror.

 
The Jondrette entered.

 
The dormer window permitted the entrance of a ray of moonlight between two
blocks of shadow. One of these blocks of shadow entirely covered the wall
against which Marius was leaning, so that he disappeared within it.

 
Mother Jondrette raised her eyes, did not see Marius, took the two chairs,
the only ones which Marius possessed, and went away, letting the door fall
heavily to behind her.

 
She re-entered the lair.

 
"Here are the two chairs."

 
"And here is the lantern. Go down as quick as you can."

 
She hastily obeyed, and Jondrette was left alone.

 
He placed the two chairs on opposite sides of the table, turned the chisel
in the brazier, set in front of the fireplace an old screen which masked
the chafing-dish, then went to the corner where lay the pile of rope, and
bent down as though to examine something. Marius then recognized the fact,
that what he had taken for a shapeless mass was a very well-made
rope-ladder, with wooden rungs and two hooks with which to attach it.

 
This ladder, and some large tools, veritable masses of iron, which were
mingled with the old iron piled up behind the door, had not been in the
Jondrette hovel in the morning, and had evidently been brought thither in
the afternoon, during Marius' absence.

 
"Those are the utensils of an edge-tool maker," thought Marius.

 
Had Marius been a little more learned in this line, he would have
recognized in what he took for the engines of an edge-tool maker, certain
instruments which will force a lock or pick a lock, and others which will
cut or slice, the two families of tools which burglars call cadets and
fauchants.

 
The fireplace and the two chairs were exactly opposite Marius. The brazier
being concealed, the only light in the room was now furnished by the
candle; the smallest bit of crockery on the table or on the chimney-piece
cast a large shadow. There was something indescribably calm, threatening,
and hideous about this chamber. One felt that there existed in it the
anticipation of something terrible.

 
Jondrette had allowed his pipe to go out, a serious sign of preoccupation,
and had again seated himself. The candle brought out the fierce and the
fine angles of his countenance. He indulged in scowls and in abrupt
unfoldings of the right hand, as though he were responding to the last
counsels of a sombre inward monologue. In the course of one of these dark
replies which he was making to himself, he pulled the table drawer rapidly
towards him, took out a long kitchen knife which was concealed there, and
tried the edge of its blade on his nail. That done, he put the knife back
in the drawer and shut it.

 
Marius, on his side, grasped the pistol in his right pocket, drew it out
and cocked it.

 
The pistol emitted a sharp, clear click, as he cocked it.

 
Jondrette started, half rose, listened a moment, then began to laugh and
said:&mdash;

 
"What a fool I am! It's the partition cracking!"

 
Marius kept the pistol in his hand.


==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

===Diogène / Diogenes=== 
Grecian philosopher advocating independence, regardless of mores. 

===Cartouche=== 
Cartouche (1693 - 1721) was an alias of Louis Dominique Bourguignon, renowned or notorious, depending on one's sympathies, for robbing travelers.  He led a 100-plus strong gang in a nasty Parisian slum called Cours de Miracles, and murdered rivals to his leadership; his gang murdered and robbed on a daily basis; their highway robberies targeted travelers between Paris and Versailles.<ref> "Crime and Punishment during the Ancien Régime" Jeremy Norman & Co., Inc., Novato, California: Norman Publishing.  historyofscience.com - advertising a collection of official court records concerning Cartouche in PDF form.  www.historyofscience.com/pdf/rb39858-Collection-of-documents-re-Cartouche-French-criminals.pdf </ref>  He had many nicknames and aliases, including "The Dick Turpin of France".<ref>  Latham, Edward. ''A Dictionary of Names Nicknames and Surnanes of Persons Places and Things''.  New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., 1904, republished by Detroit: Gale Research Library, 1966,  p. 81.  Original from University of California, Santa Cruz.  https://books.google.com/books?id=58kXAQAAIAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false </ref>

==Citations==
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